By Calum Marsh
By Michelle Orange
By Michael Atkinson
By Simon Abrams
By Zachary Wigon
By Aaron Hillis
By Casey Burchby
By Stephanie Zacharek
In Julie Taymors hands, Shakespeares The Tempest becomes a listless feminist parable. The duchess Prospera (Helen Mirren) has been forced into exile, stripped of wealth and position by her scheming brother, Antonio (Chris Cooper), whos branded her a witch by using her prodigious smarts against her. But her maligned gifts roar back with a vengeance. From the isolated island where she and her daughter Miranda (Felicity Jones) found both refuge and the slave Caliban (Djimon Hounsou), Prospera works her talent for magic to bring her foes to her for comeuppance. The visuals are alternately inspired and horrible (dated CGI), never approaching the giddy anachronism of Taymors cinematic debut, Titus (another Shakespeare adaptation). Mirrens fierce intelligence illuminates Prospera, and Ben Whishaws Ariel has a skittish puppy quality, but Hounsous awful line readings flatten the impact of his casting, which was seemingly meant to underscore the colonial tensions in Calibans tale (for instance, the slave is plied with booze by white simpletons he mistakes for gods). Seventies-rock aesthetics run wildRussell Brand, as Trinculo, in tight striped pants and a flowing scarf, looks like a Led Zeppelin refugee; Ariel, an androgyne with small breasts, evokes gender-fuck glam; and Reeve Carneys Ferdinand comes off like a hipster doing retro. For all that, the film lacks a pulse. Theres sound and fury, but the result is more drizzle than tempest.
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